Memories of Scotland
by Lucinda
Summary: Darla remembers someone that she wanted to turn: a Scotsman named Connor MacCleod. Series now complete.
1. Memories of Scotland

Memories of Scotland  
  
author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg 13  
  
main characters: Darla, Connor MacCleod  
  
disclaimer: I do not own Darla or anyone else from Buffy/Angel, and I do not own Connor or anyone else from the Highlander movie.  
  
distribution: Twisting, Paula, TNL - anyone else ask.  
  
note: set considerably before either Buffy or Angel starts, after Connor has discovered that he's immortal, and after his wife had died (see Highlander the Movie).  
  
note 2: Uses TQC Object group #1  
  
  
  
  
  
Darla gazed over the city, the view from this balcony simply amazing. Buildings towered, nearly blocking the sky, and lights glittered everywhere, reflecting off glass and steel. By night, New York was a city wrought of shadow and captured stars, grander and more terrible than anything she'd ever imagined in her long ago mortal days. This apartment had a splendid view, high enough that none of the noise and crowd of the streets was noticeable.  
  
Perhaps she should offer a word of thanks to her host for the evening? Glancing at the man who'd offered her a drink, thinking that he could lure her to this apartment and keep her as a captive trophy, she smiled. The handcuffs and duct tape in his coat pocket had indeed proven most useful, but not quite the way that he'd intended. Maybe it would have been more enjoyable to kill him while he screamed and begged, but that might attract too much attention. The fear when he'd realized that his prey was far more deadly than he had ever imagined... it had been delicious.  
  
She could feel the bond faintly, a sign that one of her relatives were in the area. Considering that she'd met the various powerful vampires that claimed territory here, and knew that the pull wasn't coming from any of them or their courts, there was only one person that it could be. Her Angelus, once her favorite childe, now cursed with a soul by those Gypsies. With the soul, he'd changed so much... She felt a pang of sorrow over his loss. It also reminded her of some of the other losses that she'd felt over the centuries.  
  
Her greatest loss had not been something so terrible as a Gypsy curse, but a matter of timing. She'd found someone, strong, handsome... a Highland warrior from Scotland, full of the old traditions and of life, vitality, and an intensity that would have been delicious. Actually, he had been delicious, like fine aged wine. Nibbling just a bit on her lip, she let her mind turn back to Scotland, three hundred years ago.  
  
She'd been in a small city in Scotland, playing the part of a not so unhappy widow The role let her tease and flirt a bit while still maintaining a thin cover of respectability. People would simply assume that she wanted another husband. It opened so many delicious opportunities to her...  
  
He'd been in the market, haggling over something, possibly a new kilt. His brown hair had fallen in waves just past his shoulders, and she could see the strong muscles of his legs, making her lick her lips and wonder just what was under his kilt. He'd had the accent of the Highlands, and the rolling sound of it had just been delightful. She'd sauntered closer, wanting to get a better look at this delightful specimen of the Scottish Highland man.  
  
The market had still been crowded, even after dark, and it was relatively simple to pretend that someone had bumped her, causing her to half fall against him. Mmmm, the muscles had been splendid under his shirt, linen, washed so often that it was almost as thin as silk. "Oh! I am so sorry about that... The market is a bit crowded."  
  
He'd reached out with his hands, helping her regain her balance as he'd looked at her, his brown eyes twinkling as he smiled at her. "I don't mind that much when a lovely lass like yourself gets bumped into me. There are far worse things that can happen to a man."  
  
In that moment, she'd decided that she wanted him. Wanted to have him, to feel those muscles rippling naked beneath her hands, wanted to see those eyes gone black with passion, wanted to taste him, touch him, claim him as her own. She just wasn't certain if she wanted an affair, or to make him into a Childe and keep him forever. She'd smiled, using a carefully practiced trick to make her eyes a soft, charming blue, the sort of look that convinced men that she was sweet and helpless. "I'm so glad that you aren't upset. I'm Darla Whitmore."  
  
"Connor MacCleod, of the Clan MacCleod." He'd smiled, kissing her fingers in a show of far more manners than rumor had led her to expect from a kilt wearing highlander. "And I'm delighted to meet such a lovely woman."  
  
There had been a flicker of pain in his eyes, the sort of pain that came from loss. Perhaps he'd recently had and lost his own lovely woman? Hmm... that might complicate things a bit. "I assure you, the pleasure is mine."  
  
It had taken her a while to lure him in. To charm him enough that he came to her house, that she could seduce him into her bed. Perhaps it was easier because she didn't ask for promises of love, only assurances that she as a 'bonny fair lass'. And it was well worth the delay. He looked every inch the handsome strapping warrior, with delightful muscles, and a few scars. She even managed to sneak in a few careful sips, tasting just a little of his blood. It was powerful, strong and rich and filled with vitality.  
  
That was the deciding factor. How could she let someone so delicious, someone that took so much delight in life go? How could she let the ravages of time claim him, dragging him down into death? Even if he might want to die, want to rejoin his cherished Heather, she was a selfish woman, and wanted him for herself. Connor would be a splendid childe, she was certain of it.  
  
Darla began making her plans, wanting everything to be just right when she turned him. But fate took the chance away from her. There was a riot in the market, and among the people killed was Connor. Apparently, the fighting had spooked a team of horses, and they'd trampled numerous people, among them Connor. He'd been crushed, and they'd already taken him to a pauper's grave. If the wagon hadn't killed him, being buried a few hours ago definitely would have finished the job.  
  
She'd been furious, and in her rage, she'd slaughtered almost a dozen people that night before packing up her things and leaving the city. The loss of him had hurt, and the potential that he'd carried had stung. She didn't want to be returning to that town any time soon.  
  
Darla shook her head, not wanting to become melancholy with memories. That sort of emotional self-indulgence bred weakness, and weakness soon led to death. She couldn't afford to be weak.  
  
Picking up her blue leather jacket, she popped a cube of bubble gum into her mouth. It helped her blend a bit better, without leaving the same clinging scent that cigarettes produced. It also helped convince people that she was breathing, must be breathing. Darla walked out of the apartment, to vanish once more into the night.  
  
end Memories of Scotland. 


	2. Scottish Memory

author: Lucinda  
  
rating: pg13  
  
main characters: Connor MacCleod, Darla  
  
disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon. Connor is the creation of the Highlander series/movie, and does not belong to me either.  
  
distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.  
  
note: Jinni's weekly poetry challenge #7. Semi-sequel to 'Memories of Scotland'.  
  
REMEMBER me when I am gone away,  
  
Gone far away into the silent land;  
  
When you can no more hold me by the hand,  
  
Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay.  
  
Remember me when no more day by day  
  
You tell me of our future that you plann'd:  
  
Only remember me; you understand  
  
It will be late to counsel then or pray.  
  
Yet if you should forget me for a while  
  
And afterwards remember, do not grieve:  
  
For if the darkness and corruption leave  
  
A vestige of the thoughts that once I had,  
  
Better by far you should forget and smile  
  
Than that you should remember and be sad.  
  
Christina Georgina Rossetti - Remember  
  
* * *   
  
  
  
Connor sat in the bar, sipping at his beer. There was a jukebox playing something mournful in the corner, something about a man whose wife or girlfriend had left and now he was all alone. Just the sort of thing to inspire people to drink more. Shaking his head, he sipped again at his beer.  
  
He didn't care much for most modern beers. Unfortunately, most of the alternatives were even worse. It was just a sad thing that the passing centuries had changed so many things, and left so many people ignorant of what a real beer should taste like. And real beer would go better with thinking about lost loves and lost could-have-been's than this watery stuff.  
  
He'd loved his wife Heather. They'd been happy together, even if they had ended up living alone in an half ruined tower instead of in a village. He'd loved her even when her skin lost the fresh softness of youth and her hair turned gray.  
  
Then there had been Darla. Ahh, Darla... a delightful widow that he'd met centuries ago. It was quite probably Darla Whitmore and her attentions that had helped him move past his long grief at Heather's death. He'd learned a lot from that woman...  
  
He hadn't loved her. He'd been fascinated, and head over heels in lust with her, but it hadn't been love. Maybe it could have grown into love, if they'd had time. Maybe the passion would have faded and they both would have moved on. Unfortunately, he'd been run over and killed by a wagon before they could find out.  
  
He'd been so disturbed by waking up in a grave that he'd not managed anything other than clawing his way out and heading for the Highlands. Shuddering, Connor decided that waking up buried was definitely one of his least favorite memories. Of course, that had rather firmly put an end to things with Darla...  
  
If only things could have gone differently. If only he'd had the chance to learn how things could have been. Shaking his head, Connor finished the beer and headed out of the little bar. He might as well see if Los Angeles had any clubs worth going into.  
  
As he walked down the street, he noticed a pair of attractive women going into a club. One had dark hair that fell part of the way down her back, dressed in this plum colored pair of leather pants and a sheer blouse. The other was blond, and had a pale blue halter blouse over a leather skirt. She had a small oval birth-mark on the back of her right knee, just like Darla.  
  
Neither of them felt like Immortals.   
  
"Now, Dru, why are we going here? I don't see what makes this club any better than the last dozen that we walked by..." The blond was speaking to her companion.  
  
Connor froze, turning to stare at them as the dark hared woman - Dru? As she spoke to the doorman at the club. She had the same birthmark as Darla. She was the same height with the same blond hair. Her voice sounded almost the same, and that could be no more than the changing of accent that comes from time and travel.  
  
But he'd known Darla three hundred years ago. Darla had to be dead and dust by now. Shaking his head, he whispered into the darkness. "I must finally be going senile - she looks just like Darla. She even sounds like Darla."  
  
Connor turned and started to walk away, wondering if he'd finally started to loose his mind. She couldn't be Darla. And wasn't there a saying that everybody had a twin out there somewhere? It had to be just...  
  
"Connor MacCleod?" Her voice caught his attention. "Is that...?"  
  
He turned, looking into her pretty blue eyes. "Darla?"  
  
Darla was right beside him before he'd even realized that she'd moved, her eyes looking into his as her cool hand cupped his cheek. "But... how can this be?"  
  
"You always did have cold hands." Connor whispered, his own finger reaching out, hesitating a moment before brushing over her cheek bone. "You're still such a bonny looking lass."  
  
"But... they told me that you died in that riot." She whispered, her hand sliding down his face to rest right over his heart. "How can you be here now?"  
  
"That's... a long story. And while we're being surprised, how is it that you're still here? Scotland... that was a long time ago, Darla. And is it still Darla Whitmore?"  
  
"It's as good a name as any other." She shrugged with an almost careless motion. "Maybe we should take this conversation somewhere else?"  
  
"You go and have some nice tea and cakes, I'll go inside and dance." Dru smiled, leaning over to kiss Darla's cheek. "Have fun."  
  
Considering things, Connor nodded. "I've got a hotel room. We could go there and talk?"  
  
Darla smiled at him, her lips curving with a sensual promise. "That sounds wonderful. Shall we go... talk? Just like old times?"  
  
Connor smiled at that, remembering that they hadn't done a lot of talking in the 'old times'. Would things be the same now? "That sounds very good, Darla."  
  
After all, if it came down to it, he could wait a bit longer for those answers. Besides, he'd learned to be patient in five hundred years.  
  
end Scottish Memory. 


	3. Returning to the Scot

author: Lucinda

contains nudity, sexual situations, and mentioned violence.

main characters: Darla, Connor MacCleod

disclaimer: I do not own Darla or anyone else from Buffy/Angel, and I do not own Connor or anyone else from the Highlander movie.

Notes: set after Darla has been revamped (s2 AtS) but without the pregnancy storyline – S2 BtVS – Vampires can't have children. Twisting's FfA pairing #911.

Connor rested, tangled in the soft sheets of the large bed in his hotel room. He'd been drinking a bit of that horrible modern beer, and had left the bar only to encounter Darla Whitmore, a woman that he'd met three centuries ago. A woman that not only didn't look a day older, but didn't feel like an Immortal.

Things had actually been quite similar to those old times. They'd no sooner closed the door to his hotel room than her lips had been on his, kissing him until he was nearly breathless. Impatient hands had helped each other out of their clothing, and they hadn't even managed to get to the bed before their bodies were entangled in the most intimate of fashions.

The bed had been used later, and quite thoroughly.

"Darla…" He brushed his hand over her shoulder, touching soft smooth skin. "How is it that you don't look older?"

She rolled over, eyes twinkling as she pinned his hands down. Her tongue flicked over her red lips, and she moved to straddle his body again. "I thought that you said I was still a bonny lass?"

"Bonny and passionate. But Scotland was a long time ago for both of us. I know how I'm still here, but… You aren't the same as I am." Connor let his eyes run over her body, part of him wondering if he could manage if she wanted to put talking of for a while longer.

She kissed him, nipping lightly at his lips as she pulled away. "I'm older than I look."

"Considering that you look as if America's laws would have you showing a card before you could have even that pitiful modern beer, I'll not argue with that." He tried to reach up and run his fingers though her hair, but her grip was too secure. But he noticed something else, something very peculiar. "Darla, why aren't you in the mirror?"

"Why aren't I…" Her voice trailed off and she twisted, looking over her shoulder to the mirror on the dresser. "Damn."

The mirror showed the beige walls and the middling acceptable seascape painting on the wall. The rumpled bed covers and naked Connor sprawled on it were partially visible. But of Darla, there was not a single glimpse.

"I'm sure there's an explanation, isn't there?" Connor asked, slipping his arms free while she was distracted. "You don't seem surprised by that at all."

She faced him again, pressing her body close to his as she whispered against his lips, "You don't seem to upset by this."

"Curious more than anything else." He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of her body against his. "Woman, you are temptation."

"No, I'm Darla." She kissed him, nipping at his lips with her sharp teeth. "Ordinarily, I'd say that you'd never believe me if I tried to explain. But considering that, as you said, Scotland was a long time ago…"

His eyes opened, and he looked up at her. "You'd be amazed at some of what I've seen, Darla."

"What about vampires, Connor?" Her fingers trailed over his arms, no longer holding him down. There was something in her eyes, a mix of apprehension and challenge.

"I've spoken to people who tell me that vampires are real. Davis even had a bite mark." Connor paused, and the pieces started to connect in his mind. "Is that what you are? A vampire?"

"Yes." She seemed to tense, as if expecting some sort of rejection or attack. "What are you, Connor McCleod?"

"Immortal. Just a man who will never look older, never get sick, never father children, and happens to be very hard to keep down." He sighed, and half sat up, leaning on one elbow. "It can get damned lonely, especially since an immortal either has to abandon friends or not make any to begin with. People take poorly to things not happening as they expect."

"In Scotland, when we knew each other, there was that riot. They told me that you were dead." She looked as if she wasn't quite certain how to ask what was on her mind.

"I probably was." He shuddered. "I woke up buried in a pauper's grave."

"I can imagine how disturbing that must have been. At least I had a coffin." Darla frowned, and then looked up. "Were you immortal then? If I had stayed, would I have found you again?"

"I was already immortal, but I didn't stick around. Considering that I'd been buried, I thought it unwise." He sighed, and shook his head. "I'm not the only one, far from it. And not all immortals want to be polite. Some would just rather cut off my head and be done with things."

"Cut off your head? Why?" She settled on the bed beside him, her fingers tracing over his muscles.

"As far as I know, it's the only way that an immortal can die the True Death." He sighed, and looked at her. "So, considering that it's unlikely that you're the only vampire in the world, and I don't have the stamina to keep anyone else satisfied and almost peaceful, how would I get rid of an attacking vampire?"

"Fire, beheading, holy water…" Darla leaned forward, placing kissed along his shoulder and up the side of his neck. "Sunlight."

"Which would be why I never saw you outside in the day." Connor tried to focus his thoughts instead of simply enjoying what she was doing to him.

"Enough thinking for now." She nipped beneath his ear, and purred, licking at the trickle of blood. "You still taste so good…"

"Does this mean…" For a few moments, Connor's mind went to a place with many pictures and very few words. "Are we in a relationship then?"

"A relationship…" Darla purred, hands gliding over his body. "Which might mean doing this fairly often?"

"Mmm." Connor couldn't quite manage words, too distracted by what her hands and lips were doing to him.

"Sounds good to me." She whispered.

Connor smiled at this development. Granted, the vampire aspect could be a complication, but she was beautiful, passionate, and she wouldn't get old and die like Heather or Rebecca, or any of the mortal women that he'd dallied with over the centuries. Besides, he was hardly one to demand someone be normal.

Life was certainly going to be a lot more interesting. Less lonely and more exhausting as well. "I could get to like this idea."

"I wanted to keep you around the first time we met. I've spent centuries regretting the fact that you slipped though my fingers." She chuckled. "All this time…"

"And I was already going to be around." He smiled at her.

"I can think of a few ideas for the next several decades." She purred, and kissed him. "I've had a lot of time to think about such things."

End Returning to the Scot.


	4. Past Affections

author: Lucinda

main characters: Connor MacCleod, Darla

fourth in 'Memories of Scotland'

disclaimer: I hold no legal rights to any character from Buffy the Vampire Slayer or Angel the series - both were created by Joss Whedon. Connor is the creation of the Highlander series/movie, and does not belong to me either.

distribution: Jinni, Paula, anyone else ask.

notes: Darla has been brought back by Wolfram & Hart, and is re-vamped. There is no Darla/Angel thing going.

Connor was happy with his life. He had moved to LA, started a new business under a new identity, and now, he wasn't alone anymore. He had Darla back in his life, and things were more enjoyable this time around. He wasn't certain if it was the changes in the world in the intervening three centuries, or if the time had made them more compatible, or if it was simply the lack of secrets, but things were wonderful. She was still a beautiful and passionate woman, and he enjoyed her seductive arts quite thoroughly, even if some of the things that she wanted to try were a bit more extreme than what he might have suggested. He even found her attractive with her fangs, something that had astounded her.

Her hand trailed over his back, nails dragging just enough that his skin quivered in response. "What are you thinking about, lover?"

"You. Me. Us." He rolled over, catching her hand and placing a kiss on her wrist. "Have I mentioned how glad I am that we found each other again?"

"Not lately," she giggled. One hand cupped his cheek, and she kissed him. "Were your thoughts all gushy and emotional, or were you thinking about the sex?"

"You'd know that I was lying if I didn't admit that the sex was in there," Connor countered.

"True," Darla kissed him again, then nibbled a little on his neck, not quite breaking the skin. "Then I'd have to punish you for lying. I could make you enjoy it..."

"I thought you wanted to go out tonight?" Connor murmured, fingers touching a lock of her hair.

Darla nipped at his neck, licking up a few droplets of blood. "So?"

"If you get started on one of your punishments, we'll be here all night. It would be enjoyable, but then we'd miss the show."

"Spoilsport," Darla murmured.

Connor chuckled, pulling her mouth to his for a kiss. "I wouldn't say that. First, we can see a show, then come back and stay in our room until sunset the next night."

"I thought that much sex would kill a mortal man?" Her eyes sparkled, making it clear that she was teasing.

"There are worse deaths," Connor countered, smirking. "I think I'd like to try one caused by too much of a good thing for once."

"Promises, promises..." Darla ran her fingers over his chest, and then smiled. "If we're going out in public, I'd better have a bite."

"Might as well do my part for the public safety..." Connor smirked. "Not that I have a problem with a beautiful woman attached to my neck."

Darla latched onto his throat, teeth sinking deep into his neck. Her hands ran along his spine as she drank, the sensations both painful and oddly erotic. Connor held her close, feeling himself try to respond to the mingled sensations even as the world darkened. His limbs grew weak, and his arms dropped away from her as she lowered him gently back to the bed.

Her voice was a husky purr, "You rest up before the play. Tonight's going to be long, and I have plans for you."

He wasn't certain how long he lay on the bed, his eyelids resting heavy and his breathing feeling like a great effort. The sensation of pressure lessened, and he became aware of being very thirsty. Unsteadily, he rolled out of the bed, stumbling a little as he made his way to the little kitchen. He drank three glasses of water, and decided that he should probably start to get dressed. "Darla? Should I go with the white shirt, or one of the darker ones? You sounded like you might want to play a bit rough later."

"Wear the darker one, the bloodstains never want to come out of the white." Her voice emerged from the bathroom, where she kept all of her hair care products.

"Why do you keep that in the bathroom when the mirror doesn't help you?" Connor mused, not certain if she'd answer.

"The mirror might not help, but the outlets are perfectly positioned, and there's plenty of space." Darla called, and then finished, "Besides, the housekeeping staff in hotels would see my things here, exactly where a normal woman would leave them. It's a good habit to keep."

Connor nodded, understanding what she meant. The game of deceptions and behavior, to fool the rest of the world into thinking they were normal. Granted, her deceptions were slightly different than some of his, but the goal was the same. It had to be easier for her to not need to hide what she was from him.

By the time he'd finished dressing, complete with jacket, tie and a small sword, he'd drank another four glasses of water. She stepped out of the bathroom, wearing this filmy blue dress that wisped down below her knees in layers of shadow, with translucent straps clinging to her shoulders. He just looked at her, hoping that his jaw hadn't dropped.

"Are we ready to go?" Darla asked, a slight smile on her face as she smoothed her skirt.

"You're beautiful." he held his arm out to her, smiling. "I still can't believe that you've never seen Cats. It's been playing for years."

"I kept having other things to take care of," she countered. "Now, let's go."

He offered his arm, and they stepped out of the apartment. Tonight would be splendid.

"Well, that wasn't quite what I was expecting," Darla commented as they left the theater. "The dancing was impressive, the cast flexible, and I really wanted to kill that woman behind us."

"Bad form to do that in the middle of a theatrical performance, my dear," Connor pointed out. "We might have been tossed out."

"The problem with that being?" Darla sighed, "What did she do, bathe in her perfume? And she kept kicking my seat, and insulting the performers, and her teeth kept clicking."

"I'm certain I'd have to figure out some way to punish you if you did kill her," Connor muttered.

"Would that be a problem? I might like it, after all," Darla purred, running her hand up his arm.

"Hmm…" for a moment, Connor let his mind drift into all sorts of images. Some of them were things that he might never have imagined doing before he'd met up with Darla again.

"Darla!" The near-shout came from a tall man with short dark hair and pale skin. "Step away from him now."

Connor felt Darla tense on his arm, and murmured, "Someone that you know?"

The dark-clad man moved closer, his steps predatory and menacing. He moved like a fighter, but there was none of the buzzing that would reveal the presence of another immortal. "Darla, I'm warning you…"

"That's Angelus. For a long time, he was my favorite childe," Darla explained, her words soft.

"I go by Angel now," the words were ground out between clenched teeth.

"Look, Angel, why don't you go away? We weren't bothering you, and I don't feel any need to start." Connor felt his muscles tensing, and part of him wanted to just grab the short sword now and attack the dark haired vampire.

"You don't know what she is, what she'll do," Angel had definitely growled.

"We had plans. You weren't in them." Connor glared back, uncertain just how fast Angel might be able to move. If the vampire attacked, it would probably hurt, though if he didn't know about Immortals, he'd probably survive.

"What, a play, a little dancing, an evening of sex, and then someone's dead?" The question was harsh, and Angel glared at Darla. "You don't know what kind of person she is."

Darla leaned forward, whispering into Connor's ear, "I think he's jealous. As grumpy as he is, I don't think he's had sex in a long time."

Connor fought to keep from smiling, or even worse, smirking. While Darla's comment made a great deal of sense, laughing would be a sure way to antagonize the already grumpy Angel. "Darla and I have been involved for about two months now, I think I have an idea what sort of things to expect from her by now. You weren't mentioned or invited, and I don't need rescued."

"Darla…" Angel's eyes flickered gold, and he glared. "You can't go around killing people."

"No petit mortes?" Darla spoke with exaggerated innocence. "Angel, just because we're family doesn't give you the right to make those sorts of choices for me."

Angel appeared to be trying very hard to blush. "That's not what I meant."

"As interesting as this conversation is, I'd rather take Darla home with me for some of those plans." Connor commented.

"How long do you think you can hide things from him, Darla?" Angel's voice taunted. "You never bothered trying to be good before, only to not get caught."

Darla hissed, "Why did I think it would be a good idea to turn him again?"

"If I was arrogant, I'd say because I wasn't there to keep you occupied," Connor offered, smiling. "But more likely, you probably thought it was a good idea at the time."

Angel frowned, his expression angry. "I'm fairly certain there was an insult in there…"

"Don't worry about it, Angel. Thinking everything through was never your strong point," Darla chuckled, and kissed Connor's cheek. "I've got someone who can keep me from endangering all the poor souls that you spend all your time worrying about, and I still get to have a little fun."

Angel took a step forward, "Darla…"

"I can worry about Darla," Connor insisted, glaring right back. "She's not going to kill me."

"Not too much, anyhow," she whispered into his ear, hand moving up his stomach and settling over his heart. "I like having you around."

Angel stood there, looking as if he really wanted to say something else. At that moment, the door of a small club opened, spilling a group of cheerful people onto the street between them. The half drunken clumsiness of them made a wonderful barrier.

Connor decided to take advantage of the interruption, and turned to walk away, tugging Darla to hint that she should accompany him. "Sometimes, there are ways other than a fight."

"And I should appreciate those moments?" Darla chuckled, and followed him, "Where did we park again?"

"Of course you should appreciate that tonight. Instead of fighting with him, we're going to go home and be passionate," Connor kissed her. "I need to make sure you aren't being a menace to everyone, after all."

"I like the way you think, lover."

They walked away into the night. Neither one looked back.

End Scottish memories 4: Past Attractions.

End Scottish Memories.


End file.
